Not So Much With the Heaven
by fireprettytreebad
Summary: Buffy goes to Hogwarts- in 1977. She becomes close to Poppy Pomfrey & James Potter, all the while having strange dreams about Spike, Nikki Wood and a James-like boy with her green eyes. Will she ever go home? Will she even want to? Buffy/James
1. Destiny

Not So Much with the Heaven

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and anything associated with it doesn't belong to me, but to Joss Whedon. All things Harry Potter are property of J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made (believe me!).

Summary: After Buffy "dies," she goes not to Heaven, but to Hogwarts. . . in 1977.

------

The energy from the portal crackled around her, making her feel as if she was being stabbed all over by tiny straight pins. The light around her was blinding and she tried to close her eyes against its painful shine. She yearned for the blessed relief of impact with the ground, thinking for a brief moment that if she had known it was going to hurt this much, she would not have jumped.

Then suddenly the unbearable light was gone and through the deep dark of the night she could see the ground rushing up at her. She hit with a sickening crash and could feel cool rain beating down on her face. She felt the wrenching pain for only a moment and then, as the darkness closed over her head she had one last bizarre thought.

'Don't let the bedbugs bite.'

------

"It's lucky they found her. Granted, Professor McGonagall will probably give them detention for a year for being in the forest, at night no less, but if they hadn't. . . . Well, I don't like to think what might have happened."

Buffy heard, through a haze of pain, a soft, British voice whisper the words as warm hands tucked a wooly blanket around her. 'Wait a minute,' she thought confusedly. 'Heaven is British? That just does not seem right.'

"Yes. The poor girl." It was a different voice this time; this one was full of kindness, but with an edge of anger as well. "From the amount of bones broken, Voldemort- really, Poppy you're a grown woman, and it's just a name- Voldemort must have had her for a month at least. How long do think it will take her to heal?"

The first voice spoke again. "I really couldn't say. I'm reluctant to give her potions. After she's released she won't heal as well with muggle medicines if I do. Still, I'm afraid the injuries are too extensive for her to heal without magic, and I can't just let her die."

Buffy struggled to open her eyes, shocked at the last words. 'I'm not dead? Why am I not dead? Wait a minute, potions? And what's a muggle?'

"Albus, she's waking up! Oh, she shouldn't be waking up yet. The pain will be too much for her. Oh, to hell with it!"

Buffy tried to protest as she felt strong arms encircle her shoulders and lift her slightly, sending waves of pain through her body. However all that came out was a grunt. Then, a disgusting taste filled her mouth as hands forced a bitter liquid down her throat. She sputtered weakly and tried again to protest, but before she could darkness crept across her vision and she slipped mercifully into sleep.

-------

The Gryffindor common room was quiet. Outside the castle window the rain was pouring down, obscuring the early morning sun. The flames from the fire illuminated the room, casting eerie shadows on the four boys sitting in worn, overstuffed easy chairs. They all wore contemplative frowns on their faces, and a tense silence was wrapped around them.

"I can't believe McGonagall gave us a month of detention," Sirius finally burst out. "We bloody well saved that girl's life! I'd bet a thousand Galleons every bone in her body was crushed. Not to mention, she practically reeked of dark magic. Voldemort really did a number on her. Oh, shut up, Peter. Dumbledore says it."

"Well, we were in the forest, Sirius. At night. It is against school rules."

"Oh, piss off Moony. We were out there for _you_, remember?"

"Don't snap at Remus, Sirius. He's right."

"What?! Prongs! We saved her life. Who cares if we were in the forest?"

"I don't think that's why she did it," James said quietly.

"What? What are you talking about?" Sirius snapped. "Why else would she give us detention?"

"Did you see her face? McGonagall's, I mean. When she saw the girl? She looked like she was going to be sick. Can't say I blame her, truthfully. I've never seen anything that . . . broken. I think she was just scared."

"McGonagall? No way!" Sirius said, waving his hand as if to dismiss the absurd notion. He didn't sound convinced though.

"I was scared," Peter whispered.

Sirius snorted. "Of course you were."

"Sirius," Remus said warningly.

"Sorry, Wormtail," Sirius muttered.

"S'okay."

"Why do you think he picked her?" Remus asked.

"What?" James asked, confused. "What do you mean? Why does he do anything? There's no logic."

"No, I know that. I just meant . . . I mean, did any of you notice her clothes?"

Sirius snorted and said, with the slightest hint of a grin, "I wasn't focusing on her clothes, man. I don't, generally, when I'm carrying a gorgeous girl. Even if she is unconscious."

Remus frowned slightly at the inappropriateness of Sirius checking out a torture victim while he carried her to the hospital wing. He shook his head and then said, annoyed, "Only you, Padfoot. What I meant was, she's a muggle. And she's not from around here. I've never seen clothes like that. They were rather small and . . . tight."

Sirius grinned. "Looks like I'm not the only one making eyes at unconscious girls."

"Shut it. They were just so different than anything I've ever seen. She's definitely not from around here."

"Who cares where she's from? Or why he picked her? Grudge? Convenience? So what? Whoever she is, she doesn't deserve what he did to her!"

"Calm down, James," Remus ordered, frowning.

"I won't calm down!" James shouted, jumping to his feet. "Didn't you see her? Didn't you see what he did? She's so small. So young. She's our age! It's not right!"

"Of course it's not right," Remus stated.

"Why isn't anybody doing anything about him?" James asked.

"People are doing things," Peter whimpered. "The aurors-"

"The aurors are idiots!" James yelled, slamming a hand down on the mantle of the fireplace. "Sorry, Wormtail," he added when the other boy let out a startled, "Eep."

"S'okay," Peter said, again. "Um, I was wondering, are, are we sure it was You-Know-Who? I mean, her bones were broken. That, that doesn't sound like something Death Eaters would do."

"Hmph. And what would _you_ know about Death Eaters?" Sirius asked scathingly.

"N-nothing."

"Right. Nothing. Besides, couldn't you feel the magic on her? You could practically see it, there was so much."

"I wonder why they dumped her in the forest?" Remus asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" James said. "Hardly anybody goes in there. If we hadn't found her tonight, there's a good chance she would've been in there until we went back next month. She'd be dead by then. And if there's anything more traumatic than the sight of a girl with all of her bones crushed, it's a half-rotted girl with all of her bones crushed. "

The boys were silent for a moment, contemplating the awful thought of that poor girl dying alone in the woods. For once in his life, Remus was almost grateful to be a werewolf. If he wasn't, they never would have found her.

"What do you suppose they'll do with her?" Sirius asked quietly.

"Send her to St. Mungo's, I suppose," James answered, flopping into his chair again and resting his head on his hand.

"No," Remus said. "Dumbledore doesn't want to. He thinks there will probably permanent damage, and he doesn't want them to obliviate her. He told Madame Pomfrey that a person has the right to remember if they've been tortured. He wants to keep her here and keep an eye on her."

"How do you know that?" Peter asked, amazed at Remus' apparent omniscience.

"Dumbledore told Pomfrey while McGonagall was yelling at us. I tuned her out."

"Remus!" Sirius cried, shocked.

"What? We've heard it before?"

James laughed. "It's just so unlike you."

Remus gave James a small smile. "Been around you too long." Then, as Peter yawned, he added, "We should go to bed. Tomorrow's Monday."

The boys nodded, and stood. They stretched and then walked slowly upstairs, all still thinking of the young girl they had rescued earlier that night.

------

James slipped into the hospital wing after classes the next day and walked slowly up to the girl's bed. It was easy to tell which one she was in, it was the only occupied bed. He frowned as he looked down at her. She was so small, and fragile looking. He reached out and brushed a piece of matted hair off of her face, jerking his hand back quickly when she gave a low groan. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to hurt you. More."

"You didn't hurt her Mr. Potter."

"Wha- oh, hi, Madame Pomfrey. Are you sure?"

"Yes. She's on some rather heavy pain potions. It's all I can do for her," the woman sighed, sounding discouraged.

"What do you mean? Can't you give her the bone mending potion?"

The mediwitch shook her head. "Professor Dumbledore and I do not feel it's wise to use too many potions on her. She's a muggle and must not become too dependent on magical means of healing."

"Oh. That makes sense, I suppose. How long will it take her to get well?"

"I don't know. I only took one class on muggle healing at school. I will give her some potions to ease the pain of course, and perhaps something to speed the process up, but I imagine it will be a month at least."

James couldn't imagine being in the hospital wing for that long. It would be unbearable. "Is there anything I can do for her?"

Madame Pomfrey sighed and sank into a chair by the girl's bed. She reached a gentle hand out and stroked the girl's cheek. "You've done enough, Mr. Potter. You and your friends saved her life."

"I know, I just feel . . . connected."

"Yes, she does inspire a feeling of protectiveness, doesn't she? She's so innocent looking." The woman's eyes darkened, and she said, in a voice James had never heard her use before, "I hate to think of what she must have gone through. Of, if I could just get my hands on that thing! I swear, the way I feel right now I could. . . ."

She seemed to realize then that she was talking to a student and trailed off. She was silent for a moment and then stood and began to walk towards her office. "I'll just leave you alone then. Talk to her. Maybe it will help."

James frowned after the departing witch and collapsed into her vacated chair. He stared at the girl for a moment before beginning to speak softly to her.

"Hi. I'm James. James Potter. It was me, or rather me and my friends, that brought you here. We found you. . . on the ground. In the forest. You were. . .Merlin, I've never seen anything like it. You were crumpled. You're so tiny. How could they. . . how could he?

"Oh, you don't want to hear this! You've been through enough. Let's talk about something happy. You're at Hogwarts. You'll like it here, when you wake up. It's great. It's like home. I, oh, bloody hell! I don't know what to say to someone who can't talk back. Wake up, so you can talk to me. We'll talk about whatever you want. Um, girly stuff! Hair, clothes, boys. No, not boys. I'm sorry, I know you've been through a lot, but there are some things a guy just can't do. Anything else, though. If you need to talk about what he did to you, I'll listen. I promise. Just wake up. Wake up!"

Suddenly, he realized he'd been yelling at her. He ran a hand through his hair and stood up. "I'm sorry. I'll leave you alone now. I don't even know why I'm here anyway. Just sleep, okay? I'll come back tomorrow. I'll bring the guys with me. Just, just sleep." And with that he turned and walked out the door.

------

_"The hardest thing in this world is to live in it. Be brave. Live. For me."_

_She was falling. Falling through space, falling through time, through black air._

_"Mom? Mom? Mommy?" she said, her voice becoming softer with each word._

_"Not yet Buffy."_

_"I'm dead."_

_A voice she didn't know, from a boy she didn't recognize. Messy hair. Glasses. "But you're still pretty."_

_A woman in a subway. Spike._

_"I coulda danced all night with that one."_

_A big black dog, running towards her. "You have a destiny," it screamed, morphing into another boy she didn't recognize, then into the boy from before._

_Bright green eyes. Piercing._

_Lightening. Screamning. A flash of red hair. Willow!_

_Not, not Willow. Not yet._

_You have a destiny!_

_A baby. A miracle._

_Never supposed to happen, but a miracle._

_Savior._

_Green eyes!_

_She was holding him._

_You have a destiny!!!_

_The baby was gone. She was alone. In the ground._

_"Mom? Mom? Mommy?"_

_"Still not time, Buffy."_

_Blank, merciful white light._

_In the ground. Alone. Can't breathe._

_"YOU HAVE A DESTINY!!!"_

_------_

"YOU HAVE A DESTINY!!!"

Madame Pomfrey dropped her tea as the shrill scream filled her office. She rushed into the main room and found her patient thrashing on the bed. She rushed to her and was about to reach out and restrain her when the girl suddenly stopped moving. She settled back into the bed, a peaceful look on her face.

"Dawn," she whispered.

Madame Pomfrey stared in amazement. All that movement and the girl was still asleep. What was going on? What had she been screaming about? And who was Dawn?


	2. Hospital

Not So Much with the Heaven

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and anything associated with it doesn't belong to me, but to Joss Whedon. All things Harry Potter are property of J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made (believe me!).

Summary: After Buffy "dies," she goes not to Heaven, but to Hogwarts. . . in 1977.

-----

Poppy Pomfrey sat by her young charge's bed, staring at the girl as if trying to figure out a mystery. She had been a Healer for nearly ten years now, and she had seen a lot of terrible things. If she was perfectly honest with herself, she had seen many cases worse than this one, which was why she didn't understand why she was affected so deeply.

Maybe it was the extent of the injuries, or the fact that most of them were physical, not magical. She was covered in cuts and scrapes; it had taken Poppy nearly ten minutes to scourgify all the blood away. The clothes she had been in would never be wearable again. She had two broken legs, a crushed rib, a broken arm, three broken vertebrae, and a fracture in her skull. If she had been in a muggle hospital she would have been paralyzed at the very least, probably dead.

Not to mention the dark magic that had so obviously been used on her. The night of her arrival, it had been practically rolling off her in waves, so much so that even Peter Pettigrew could feel it. Now, four days later the traces were reduced, but if she closed her eyes and was perfectly silent, Poppy could still feel it embedded in the girl's skin. It would probably always be present.

Her 'To hell with it,' on the night of the girl's arrival had been stuck to, and she had kept the girl on enough pain potions to keep a hippogriff knocked out. She had even gone against her original decision and given the girl potions to help her heal more quickly, unable to bear the sight of the horrific injuries. She would have to stop that soon; tomorrow even. What she had said to Dumbledore on the night of the girl's arrival was true: if she overused potions, the girl would never be able to heal the muggle way again.

She didn't think it had anything to do with the girl's injuries though. Rather, she thought the connection she felt to her charge had more to do with the girl herself. She was so young; Nineteen, twenty, twenty-one at most. And she was a muggle. But it was more than that, really. It was in the way she slept, the look on her face; peaceful most of the time, but fitful and tense at others as if she were trying to jerk herself awake.

Every night so far she had screamed it in her sleep.

_"YOU HAVE A DESTINY!!!"_

She said other things as well. Always whispered. Almost always about death.

_"Death is my gift?"_

_"Giles, I don't wanna die."_

_"We're not supposed to move the body!"_

Poppy was ready for the girl to wake up. She wanted to know her name, this child who had ignited such fierce feelings in her. Pity, of course. Longing for the young child she had lost so long ago. Her little girl with hair as blonde as this one's was. And anger. Fierce, boiling anger.

You-Know-Who had been on the rise for years now, and Dumbledore had always warned her that he was dangerous. But all of the dead or missing wizards and witches in the Daily Prophet attributed to the faceless name had not angered her the way this little slip of a girl had. Terrified yes, angered, never. But she had meant what she said to James Potter the other night. If The Dark Lord had been in front of her at that very moment, she would have attacked and died without a second thought. Amazing, what one broken stranger could do.

Suddenly the girl on the bed began to whimper. She tried to struggle, but it was in vain. After the first night of her wild thrashing, Poppy had been forced to restrain her out of fear that she would damage her broken body irreparably. Now, as if in protest of being unable to move, she began to whimper louder. Touched by the girl's pain, Poppy reached out a cool hand and smoothed the hair off her face, then rested it gently on her cheek. Amazingly, this seemed to help, as after a moment the girl settled back into the bed with a peaceful look on her face. Then, her forehead scrunched again and she said the phrase that, of all the ones she had uttered, confused Poppy the most.

_"You think we're dancing?"_

_-----_

James Potter walked quietly into the hospital wing. He had been here every day since they found the girl six days ago. Madame Pomfrey was always glad to see him, and he hadn't understood that at first. Generally, when he and the others came to the hospital wing it was to visit Remus, and she usually chased them away. When he asked her about it she had stared rather blankly at him for a moment before finally answering.

"When you bother Mr. Lupin, I am angry because he needs rest. However, all this girl gets is rest. I'm rather hoping if you talk to her enough, she'll wake up. Honestly, it's been much too long. I'm beginning to be afraid that. . . ."

However, he had never found out what she was afraid of, for she had once again seemed to realize who she was talking to and snapped her mouth shut. She turned her attention to the girl, fluffing her pillows unnecessarily before heading into her office. Now, when James showed up, she didn't say anything, but rather gave him a tiny nod, turned on her heel, and shut herself in the office with the muttered excuse of paperwork.

At first, his friends had come with him, all of them interested in the girl they had rescued. However, as the week wore on and she still had not woken up, their visits had tapered off. Only James still came every day. For some reason, he could not tear himself away. So now he reached out and brushed a strand of hair off her face, before collapsing into the chair beside her bed.

"Hi? How are you today? Still comatose? Lovely." There was not even the slightest hint of movement from the bed, and James frowned. "Okay, okay, not funny. I get it. I suppose you want me to tell you what's going on around the school?

"Nobody knows you're here, except us and the faculty. Dumbledore thinks the students will panic if they find out Death Eaters got so close to the castle. Makes since I guess.

"The guys said to say they were sorry they couldn't come." They hadn't, but she didn't need to know that. "They're busy. Remus is studying for N.E.W.T.S; never mind that their almost six months away. Sirius is chasing after a sixth year Ravenclaw. Peter is trying to catch up on sleep. Apparently Filch keeping us up until three in the morning for detention wore him out.

"Hey, guess what? We played a great prank today on Snivellus. Don't worry, he deserved it. He called this girl a mudblood. I guess you probably don't know what that is. . . . It's better that way. I won't tell you. Not yet anyway.

"Well, I guess I should go. I don't really have anything else to tell you about, and I have a lot of homework. I'll come back before I go to sleep, if I can. We've got Hagrid for detention tonight, so he should let us out pretty early."

He stood and looked down at the girl. She looked so peaceful sleeping there. Not quite even realizing what he was doing, James bent down and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. Then, he turned to go. Before he could reach the door, however, he heard her whimper in her sleep. He rushed back to her bed and took her small hand in his larger one just in time to hear her whisper in her sleep.

"Mom? Mom? Mommy?"

Suddenly, she was awake, and James was staring into beautiful bright green eyes.

-----

When Buffy opened her eyes the first thing she saw was the hazy shape of a boy standing by her bed holding her hand. They boy had messy dark hair, but she couldn't see well enough to make out any of his other features.

"Xander?" She whispered, her throat scratchy from sleep.

"No, I'm James."

She tried to ask him if this was heaven, but she supposed she hadn't been loud enough because the boy, James, bent down and placed his ear to her mouth.

"I'm dead?" she asked, instead.

"No! No," the boy whispered, looking shocked. "You're in the hospital wing."

"Oh. Don't like hospitals," she mumbled tiredly.

The boy smiled. "Me neither. What's your name?"

"Buffy. I'm Buffy," she said. Then, the pain hit her. A moment later darkness came over her eyes and she drifted off into blessed unconsciousness once more.


	3. Waking

Not So Much with the Heaven

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and anything associated with it doesn't belong to me, but to Joss Whedon. All things Harry Potter are property of J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made (believe me!).

Summary: After Buffy "dies," she goes not to Heaven, but to Hogwarts. . . in 1977.

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_Buffy stood on the wall of what appeared to be the highest tower of an old castle, holding a scythe tightly in her hand. A cold wind was blowing hard, whipping her hair about her face, the ends stinging her sharply on the cheeks. Her clothes, strange, old-fashioned black robes, blew crazily around her body. The force of the wind streaming through them was threatening to pull her off the tower and onto to the wide expanse of lawn spreading beneath her. Below her, there was a battle going on. Though she was hundreds of feet removed from the action, she could hear the screams of the dying, and smell the acrid scent of blood. _

_At the point furthest from the tower, on the very edge of a looming black forest, two figures were locked in a furious clash. One was a man, his skin a pale, unearthly white color, and the other a boy, disturbingly familiar, with a shock of black hair. Buffy watched as the two figures fought, casting spells for the most part, but occasionally forgetting their wands and throwing sloppy punches. _

_At that moment, with an abrupt cessation of motion, as if the scene were in a movie Buffy was watching and she had pressed the pause button, the action stopped. Only she and the boy on the edge of the field remained unfrozen. He turned, and, as though they were separated by mere inches and not hundreds of feet, their gazes locked. Buffy raised her right arm in salute; the scythe clenched in her grip and dripping with blood. He had her eyes. _

_They stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity and then Buffy opened her mouth in a silent scream. The scream seemed to take form in front of her, appearing as a black ribbon twisting through the sky and down to the boy. When it reached him he too began screaming, and, clear as if he were right next to her, Buffy heard him shout the words that were now pouring forth from her mouth as well. _

"_YOU HAVE A DESTINY!!!"_

_Then, just as the battle snapped back into action around her, Buffy's scream turned to one of terror as a she felt a hand push against her back. Her balance was upset and the scythe slipped from her grip. The sound of metal meeting stone rang in her ears as it dropped to the floor of the tower. It was the last thing she heard before the hand shoved her again and she slipped, falling off the tower and screaming as the merciless ground rushed up at her. _

"_No!"_

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"No!"

The scream rent the air, and James leapt to his feet, the book he had been reading falling out of his hands as he rushed to Buffy's bedside. He was about to touch her when she grabbed him around the wrist, her grip hard considering the fact that she was bound to the bed.

"Let me out," she demanded, her voice angry and surprisingly strong.

"I can't," James said, smoothing her hair back from her face. "Madame Pomfrey will want to look at you first, so you'll have to wait."

"No, I really won't," she said, dropping his hand and pulling her wrists against the restraints. Her face wrenched in pain at the strain on her injuries, but she continued to pull. She seemed surprised when they didn't give and began pulling harder. After a few seconds she gave up, an exhausted and confused look on her face. She lay back against the pillows, a wary look in her eyes. "What in the hell have you done to me?"

James was shocked. "Nothing. Don't you remember? You're in the Hospital Wing."

"Where's Giles?" she snapped. "Get Giles."

"Who's Giles?"

"Rupert Giles. He'll be the one who brought me in. Get him."

"My friends and I brought you in. We found you in the forest, after you escaped You-Know-Who. There wasn't anyone with you."

"No, I don't know who, and I didn't escape anyone. Find Giles. Or Willow, Xander, Dawn, Anya even. Just get me out of here."

"I'm sorry, but I don't know who any of those people are. We found you in the Forbidden Forest two weeks ago, after you escaped from You-Know-Who. Sirius carried you in here and Madame Pomfrey's been healing you. You woke up last Sunday and told me your name. Don't you remember?"

"Two weeks?" she asked, with a horrified note in her voice.

"Yeah."

"No, that can't be right," she whispered, looking down at her arms, where her bruises were visible. "It hurts."

James couldn't help it, he snorted. "Yeah, it does tend to hurt when you get tortured."

Buffy's head snapped up and she stared at him. "I didn't get tortured," she said.

He lost his patience. What was the point of her denial? "Oh really? Well, what do you call it when the darkest wizard of the age uses you as a play thing in his plan to annihilate all Muggles?"

"Wizards?" She was looking at her bruises again the same confused expression on her face as earlier. "It hurts. Why?" Then, she gasped, and furrowed her brow. "Heaven isn't British!" he heard her whisper under her breath.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Where am I?" she yelled, pulling again at the restraints on her wrists. "Where am I, and what in the hell have you done to me?"

James jumped back from the bed, surprised by the violence of her response. He was about to answer her when the door at the end of the room squeaked open and Madame Pomfrey shuffled in. Her face was lined with exhaustion, and she was carrying a half drunk glass of pumpkin juice. After a moment, she looked up, locking eyes with James across the room.

"Oh, hello, Mr. Potter. How are you-" Her gaze shifted then to her patient, and she dropped her drink, the glass shattering on the floor.

"You're awake."


	4. Truth

Not So Much with the Heaven

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and anything associated with it doesn't belong to me, but to Joss Whedon. All things Harry Potter are property of J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made (believe me!).

Summary: After Buffy "dies," she goes not to Heaven, but to Hogwarts. . . in 1977.

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The woman in the doorway had a stricken look on her face, and was gazing at Buffy with tears in her eyes. She didn't seem to notice the juice in a puddle at her feet. For some reason, Buffy found her presence comforting and she stopped pulling at her restraints. Finally, the woman spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"I gave up."

"What?" the boy standing next to Buffy yelled. "What do you mean, you gave up?"

That seemed to snap the woman out of her stupor, and she spoke sharply to the boy, her eyes snapping. "She was not responding to the medications as she should have, Mr. Potter. It's been two weeks."

Buffy felt as though she had been punched in the stomach. So the boy had been right. "Two weeks. Oh, God. That can't be right. It just can't. I should have healed by now."

"What on earth are you on about? You certainly weren't responding as well as I'd have liked, but considering the extent of the injuries, you can't expect to have healed yet by any means," the woman said, moving finally from her spot in the doorway. She stalked over to the bed and began fluffing Buffy's pillows. Buffy followed her with her eyes, noting that despite the woman's harshly spoken words and brisk manner, she still seemed to be choking back tears.

"No, I should be! I should be fine. I don't understand," Buffy said, her voice rising in panic. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be over." The woman stepped closer then, and Buffy reached out for her, barely managing to close her hand around the other woman's wrist through the restraints. "Please," she whispered. "I need to see Giles. Get Giles."

"Who is Giles?"

But Buffy was beginning to shake and she couldn't answer. The boy answered for her.

"A friend of hers, I think. She was asking for him earlier. She thought he was the one who brought her in here, but I explained that it was us."

"Oh. Well, let's see, Buffy, is that your name?" Buffy nodded. "Well, Buffy, I'm Poppy Pomfrey, your nurse. I'm sorry to say that I don't know your friend, but if you'll tell me how I'll certainly see that someone gets in touch with him for you. Is he an American like you?"

Buffy shook her head. "No. He's British, but he lives in Sunnydale."

Poppy and the boy started, and then turned to look at each other with fear in their eyes.

"Get Dumbledore," she said in a strangled voice. He nodded, and then gave Buffy a horrified glance before turning and sprinting out of the room.

With the boy gone, Buffy took a moment to look over her surroundings. The room was large and rather cold looking with all of the hospital beds and their stiffly starched bed linens. Still, it was clean and had a pleasant smell that Buffy's nose identified as freshly laundered linen. Through the large arched windows , she could see rolling green grounds with a dark forest looming on the edge of her vision. The sun was bright, and Buffy found herself longing to jump out of bed and run in the fresh air.

"So why the freak out over Sunnydale?" Buffy asked Poppy quietly a few minutes later. "Not a fan of California?"

Poppy looked at her, her expression cautious and guarded. Finally she spoke. "Well, I suppose it's because if you're from Sunnydale then I think we might know why You-Know-Who tortured you."

Buffy flopped back on the bed and rolled her eyes. "What's this tortured crap? I mean yeah, the whole hitting the ground after a hundreds of feet fall thing hurt, but I wouldn't call it torture. And by the way, this you-know-who stuff? Uber confusing. And would you please take these damn things off?" she asked tugging again at her restraints even though she was beginning to suspect that it was pointless.

Before Poppy could respond, the door opened and James reentered with a man Buffy took to be Dumbledore right behind him. As the man stepped fully into the room, Buffy's mouth dropped open, her worries momentarily forgotten. The man in front of her looked like a King Arthur novel come to life in front of her, from the deep purple dress (robes, her mind whispered) he wore to the white beard and hair that feel to his waist.

"Whoa. It's Merlin."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, and Buffy was distracted by the humor and kindness gleaming from their blue depths. "Not quite, my dear," he chuckled. "But thank you. And I must say, it is good to see you awake. I had nearly given up hope."

"Hmph," James grunted. "Lot of that going around here today," he mumbled, shooting a glare in Poppy's direction.

"Ah, yes Mr. Potter. Would you care to tell me why exactly you were running through the school halls screaming for me?" Dumbledore asked, a small smile playing about his thin lips as he turned away from Buffy.

Poppy spoke up then, her voice high and worried. "She mentioned Sunnydale, sir. I believe that's where she comes from."

"She is still in the room, you know," Buffy said angrily. "And yes, I'm from Sunnydale, although what that has to do with taking these restraints off, I don't know. Get on with it, would you?"

"Of course, my dear," Dumbledore responded mildly, although Buffy thought she detected a hint of reproach in his voice at her tone. "You will have to stay in bed though. I'm glad you're awake, but I'm sure Madame Pomfrey will agree that your injuries will be exacerbated by excessive movement.

"Yes, quite," Poppy said as she removed the restraints.

"Yeah, about that. What did you do to me? After two weeks of sleeping, I should be well. More than well. Super Buffy. Which believe me, is saying something."

"And why is that?" Dumbledore asked, moving closer to the bed.

Buffy scowled and shook her head. "Uh-uh. You first. Why the wig over Sunnydale?"

Dumbledore glanced sideways at Poppy and raised an eyebrow. "She is well enough to question?"

Poppy nodded. "Yes. But not for too long."

"I will answer all of your questions Ms-?"

"Summers. Buffy."

"Ms. Summers, I will answer all of your questions, but you must answer a very important one for me first. The man who tortured you, what did he ask you about your hometown?"

Buffy sighed loudly. "For the absolute last time, I was not tortured."

"Well, then how exactly did you wind up on the floor of the forbidden forest with almost every bone in your body broken?"

"Nope," Buffy said, crossing her arms over her chest. "Not answering that one. Find Giles."

Dumbledore sighed loudly, his patience waning fast. "Ms. Summers, it is more important than you can possibly imagine that you cooperate with me. Now, for the last time: What did Voldemort want to know about the hellmouth?"

Buffy gasped and tried to leap out of bed, but bit back a cry as pain flared through her body. She was too weak to move. She laid her forehead in her hand and said quietly, "This cannot be happening." Then, she lifted her head and stared at Dumbledore for a few minutes, assessing the situation. She was in England, and Giles wasn't here to help. The people before her didn't look evil, and even if they were, it hardly mattered if she was too weak to do anything about it, did it? Besides, based on the clothes and the fact that they knew about the hellmouth, it was doubtful anything she could say to them would be overly shocking.

"Look," she said quietly. "I don't know who this Wal-mart guy is, but he has nothing to do with my condition. That's my own doing. There was a portal, and it had to be closed. It was either me or Dawn, and I wasn't about to let my baby sister die doing my job. I jumped. Off the tower. I don't know what's going on here, but it's not what was supposed to happen. I should be dead."

"You attempted suicide?" James asked in a strangled voice. His hands were clenched at his sides, and Buffy could see that behind his glasses his eyes were wide and horrified. Hazel Eyes. Beautiful hazel eyes she noticed, despite everything else that was on her mind.

"Yes," she whispered, straightening her shoulders and silently daring them to judge her. If they only knew what she'd been through. "It's my job; apocalypse and all that."

'That's not why you really did it though,' whispered a voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Spike. 'Got a yearnin' for the big dirt sleep, right love?'

Pushing that rather disturbing thought aside for now, Buffy glared at them defiantly, waiting for someone to speak.

"Your job?" James asked finally. "What does that mean?"

Buffy sighed. "Well, I guess if you know the truth about Sunnyhell it can't really hurt? You'll probably figure it out anyway. I'm the slayer."

Whatever they had been expecting, it wasn't that. Poppy grabbed her throat, a horrified look in her eyes, and James gasped. Only Dumbledore looked unsurprised.

James recovered first. "No, you aren't," he said, confused. "We studied slayers in Defense Against the Dark Arts. The current one is named Nikki Wood."

Buffy felt as though an anvil had dropped into her stomach. A vision flashed through her head of Spike on a Subway, battling with a woman wearing the leather duster he would later claim as his own. "What year is it? Please, what year is it?" she begged, her voice rising to a shriek as all of the implications of what the boy had said flooded through her.

"1977," said Poppy quietly.


	5. Healing

Not So Much with the Heaven

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and anything associated with it doesn't belong to me, but to Joss Whedon. All things Harry Potter are property of J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made (believe me!).

Summary: After Buffy "dies," she goes not to Heaven, but to Hogwarts. . . in 1977.

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_**Author's Note:**_ Thank you to everyone who is reading this story and especially to those who are reviewing. I'm sorry this chapter is shorter than usual, but it seemed a natural cut off point. The next update should be coming soon and I'll make it extra-long.

I know I am being slow on the updates, but in addition to IRL concerns, this story is difficult for me to write because I am so excited about it. I've had the vast majority of the story planned out since the idea first came to me, and I keep wanting to skip ahead and write the "exciting" parts. I will try to be better, but in the mean time I have a pressing question that I've got to figure out before I go too much further: Is there a Lily or not?

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_She is a ghost. A ghost holding a crossbow, standing on the roof of a building in the rain and wearing a white prom dress covered by a leather jacket. The clothes are looser on her than she remembers, and a glance at her hands and perfunctory fondling of her breasts tells her that though she is wearing Child Buffy's clothes, she is in her adult body. _

_She spins slowly in place, watching the action unfold before her. They fight, whirling like performers from the Circus of the Sun, dancing around her, past her, through her. She can't see well. It is dark and her head hurts. The only things visible in the cold city gloom are their silhouettes, black against the blacker night. Still, she knows who they are, can tell by the biting English accent and the outline of the duster swirling in the wind. _

_Suddenly, the picture is thrown into fluorescent, government building brightness as Spike walks away from her, throwing a careless grin over his shoulder as he steps onto the edge of the building. _

"_By the way . . . love your coat," he says as he jumps._

_The scene changes and now there are two of her. They are wearing strapless light pink dresses this time and Ghost Buffy's crossbow has been replaced by a toy parasol. She watches without emotion as her other self dances in Angel's arms, eyes closed, her head resting on his chest, an expression halfway between ecstasy and despair on her face. Then, just as she begins to wonder how she can watch such a devastating part of her past and feel nothing, Other Her's eyes spring open. They lock gazes._

"_You think you know?" she whispers before Angel turns them in the other direction, following the music._

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Buffy woke slowly, her head heavy with sleep and pain. Her dream was lingering on the edge of her consciousness. With a vague feeling that it was important she struggled to recall the details. But just as it started coming back to her, she heard voices above her, sounding as though they were speaking from underwater, and the dream slipped away.

"Give her a healing potion, Poppy."

"But Albus, when she goes back to the muggle world-"

Albus laughed. "Goodness, Poppy! We can't allow a vampire slayer from the future to roam about freely in the muggle world. I can think of twenty possible disasters off the top of my head alone."

"You believe her then?"

"Of course. Why shouldn't I? I admit, it's rather fantastic, but everything seems true so far. Now, the potion?"

Buffy groaned as she felt a warm arm slide under her back and lift her slightly from the bed. A gentle hand placed a vial to her lips and tipped a foul tasting liquid down her throat. She sputtered, her eyes flying open at last as she flung off the arm supporting her and struggled into a sitting position. She winced in pain as her movement exacerbated her injuries, but at last she was sitting hunched over in the bed, the white cotton sheets tangled in her legs.

"That's disgusting! What is it?" she ask the nurse.

"It's a healing potion, Ms. Summers. Your injuries should be completely healed in approximately eight hours."

Buffy huffed, but even as she glowered she noticed that she already felt a bit less sore. However, that only fueled her anger. "Well, why didn't you give me the miracle cure two weeks ago when I first got here?" she snapped.

"Ms. Summers, a muggle who is treated with potions will find it difficult to heal from non-magical means," Dumbledore answered. "However, in light of our conversation last night I have deemed it unnecessary to treat you through muggle means any longer."

Buffy glared. "Why?"

"I believe that if you return to the present, your slayer abilities will return and you will heal as you did previously. However, as long as you remain in the past, it will be necessary for you to live in the magical world. It is far too dangerous to simply allow you to wander about in the muggle world. There are many reasons for this, none of which I wish to discuss with you now."

Buffy opened her mouth to protest, but Dumbledore raised a hand to silence her.

"Now, I am going to have Madame Pomfrey administer a Dreamless Sleep draught. You must rest for the potion to work properly. Tomorrow we will meet and discuss your options. I will send Mr. Potter down to collect you at nine o'clock and he will escort you to my office."

Before Buffy could say anything, Madame Pomfrey was pushing her gently back on to the bed and Dumbledore was edging out the door. The nurse eased another potion down her throat, and Buffy felt drowsiness creeping over her.

"Not fair," she whispered, before falling asleep again.


	6. Thoughts

Not So Much with the Heaven

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and anything associated with it doesn't belong to me, but to Joss Whedon. All things Harry Potter are property of J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made (believe me!).

Summary: After Buffy "dies," she goes not to Heaven, but to Hogwarts. . . in 1977.

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_**Author's Note:**_ This story is posted on both and Twisting the Hellmouth. It should be noted that the formatting (italics for dreams, bold for flashbacks) is preserved on FFN but not TTH.

So it looks like this story is going to be much longer than I originally planned on. I was thinking it would be a seven or eight chapter ficlet, now it looks like it will be a full sized story. Different avenues keep occurring to me, and there aren't any I care to leave unexplored. So, it looks like _Not So Much with the Heaven _will be around for a while yet!

Finally, I'd like to thank everyone who is reading my little tale here, and offer special thanks to those of you who leave reviews. They are very much appreciated.

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_Somewhere music was playing, the same thing over and over again. It was the lulling, boring notes of the Surprise symphony, and then the jar of the discordant chord. _

_Rain was lashing on the windows, pouring in torrents against the glass. Lightening streaked the sky at short intervals, so regular Buffy could nearly count it. _

"_One, two, three. . . ."_

_STREAK_

"_One, two, thr-"_

_STREAK!_

_CRASH!_

_BOOM!_

_STREAKCRASHBOOMSTREAKCRASHBOOM!_

_  
She was lying on the bed in the hospital wing. The light was so bright she needed to shield her eyes, but her hands were bound to the bed by red and gold men's ties. In contrast to the brightness of the room, the objects in it were dark, blurred, and indistinct. She gripped as much of the sheets as she could reach, her eyes wide and horrified. Her memories danced before her, so near she felt she could reach out and touch them. _

"_Be brave, Dawn. Live, for Me."_

_The glow of the white light as the portal pulsed around her. In spite of the pain there was the vague sensation of it cradling her, carrying her up to sleep on the clouds. And then the panic as her safety net was snatched away. She moaned in terror as the dark ground rushed up before her and she realized she was about to die. _

_The sheet in her hands ripped and she clutched at the mattress pad for a lifeline. She couldn't breathe, there was a weight pressing into her chest, hands around her neck cutting off her air supply. Someone was stabbing her all over with pins, needles, knives, and as she finally screamed, screamed for dear life, the rhythmic flash of lightening was replaced by a brief, terrifying burst of green light, just as the discordant note sounded again. _

"_Not Harry, please, not Harry!"_

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Buffy's eyes fluttered open. The early morning sun was streaming in through the window and she stretched, yawned. The weather seemed wrong to her somehow, as if it should be pouring rain, but she couldn't muster the will to care. She felt as though she'd been in the dark for ages, and she curled like a cat towards the comfort of the sun. She began to push back the covers, intent on going closer to intoxicating warmth, but before she could so much as sit up a soft voice broke through the silence.

"Not so fast, please. I need to examine you."

Buffy sighed and stopped moving. So close. She watched the older woman carefully, complying with her orders, but not speaking. At last the exam was over and Buffy moved to go to the window. She had been kept away from the sunshine too long already.

Again, the nurse pushed her back. "No. Breakfast first, then a shower. Then you can look out the window all you like."

Buffy scowled, but still didn't say anything. A few moments later the woman returned with a tray laden with food. Buffy sighed at the sight of the enormous breakfast. She was quite hungry. Still, to be forced to eat . . . .

"I'm not your prisoner, you know."

Madame Pomfrey straightened, and Buffy felt slightly ashamed of herself at the sight of the slightly hurt look on the other woman's face. But then the nurse's eyes hardened and she sent a quelling, icy glare in Buffy's direction.

"I'm aware of that, Ms. Summers. And while sunshine will certainly do you good, there's no point in you getting up at all if you're only going to fall down because you're weak from hunger. Eat." With that, she turned on her heel and marched into her office, shutting the door soundly behind her.

Buffy scowled down at the food. She was half-tempted to throw it on the floor just because she could, but even as she realized how childish that would be her stomach gave a low rumble. She sighed and began to dig in.

A few moments later the breakfast was gone, and the nurse had returned.

"There. Feel better now?"

"Yes," Buffy replied.

"Good. Let's get you in the shower."

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The bathroom in the Hospital Wing was a girl's dream. It was covered floor to ceiling with white tiles, with deliciously fluffy rugs scattered about for warmth. Everything gleamed and shone with cleanliness, yet the dozens of candles lighting the room kept it from being cold and sterile. The cabinet against the far wall was stocked with every kind of bath product Buffy could imagine.

There was a stack of fluffy towels by the edge of the tub, and as Buffy ran a hand over them, she found they were the softest things she'd ever touched. She longed to wrap them around herself, bury her face in the downy softness, but she held off on the pleasure. The bathtub itself was huge; at least five times the size of a normal one, but Buffy wasn't interested in it.

Buffy stripped, her arms slow and awkward after their long period of disuse. She stepped into the cavernous shower and pulled the glass door closed behind her. She turned the water on, hot, hotter, still hotter till she could barely stand it. She lifted the soap from its perch by her shoulder, but it was wet already and it slipped through her fingers. Suddenly, she felt overcome with exhaustion, and the act of bending to pick up the soap seemed more than she could ever hope to accomplish. She stepped fully into the hot spray and placed her palms and forehead against the shower wall. The coolness of the tile was such a comforting contrast to the heat on her back that she leaned her entire upper body into it.

As Buffy leaned against the tile her thoughts at last began to organize themselves. She was stuck in the past. She was alone, away from all she knew with no hope of finding it. She was being held prisoner– and whatever the nurse said, she **was** a prisoner- in a world she had never heard of, where they knew her deepest secrets, but she didn't know any of theirs. And she was powerless. Buffy wasn't used to being powerless, but now that she was no longer the slayer-

Buffy let out a moan of frustration. Were the Powers, or whoever was behind this determined to take every last thing away from her? This was worse than when she killed Angel: she no longer had even herself, for she had been the slayer so long that without the slayer there was no Buffy.

Anger coursed through her body at this realization, and she pulled back from the wall and began pummeling the tile in her frustration. She felt pain tearing at her hands and looked down. To her shock, her knuckles were torn and bloody. She had not hurt the wall, she had hurt herself. She moaned in pain and sank to the floor of the shower where she sat sobbing as the water went cold around her.

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"**Mr. and Mrs. Pomfrey?" **

**The Healer's soft voice cut through the tension in the air, and Poppy got slowly to her feet, her hands clutching at the medal around her throat as she struggled to voice her fears. Julian's hands dropped onto her shoulders; for her support or his she didn't know. He too was trying to speak but was unable to. At last he managed a single word, in a strangled voice so unlike his own, usually rich and deep. **

"**Pamela?" **

**The Healer shook his head. "I'm so sorry. The damage was too extensive. There was nothing we could do."**

**Poppy fell to her knees as behind her Julian gave a low, keening noise. **

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Lost in her memories, Poppy stared at the closed door of the bathroom long after Buffy disappeared inside it, waiting for the sound of water hitting tile so she could know her patient was following orders. The girl was so fragile, and so alone. Still, Poppy had the feeling that the little sparks of feistiness that peeked through the girl's melancholy at times were much closer to the true Buffy.

She sighed, unable to imagine being in Buffy's shoes; the uncertainty of her position alone would be enough to drive her mad. Even as a young Healing student, newly graduated from Hogwarts, Poppy had demanded security in her life, a compulsion caused by the craziness of her childhood. The drive to create a stable life had only intensified since the death of her family. She was one of the few teachers who lived at Hogwarts year-round, leaving only when absolutely necessary.

And now this girl had come. This little slip of a thing, arriving in the dead of night in the arms of Sirius Black, had turned her world on its end. Oh, she knew they had been wrong. Voldemort wasn't responsible; Buffy had finally convinced them of that. But he could have been, so easily. She knew that now, and the slow-burning anger ignited in the pit of her stomach refused to be doused by the knowledge that, this time at least, he was not responsible. She wanted him dead, and she wanted to do it.

Finally, just as she heard the listened-for sound of water, Poppy was snapped out of her reverie by the arrival of one of her students in dire need of attention.

"Hester Midgeon, this is quite enough. I know your acne's is rather severe, but will you ever learn that cursing it off does more damage than good?"

"You will be able to fix it, won't?" Hester whimpered.

"Yes, yes, but you know, regrowing a face takes time. First I'll have to stop the bleeding."

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James walked down the corridor to the hospital wing alone. He had asked the other Marauder's to come with him, but Remus had pointed out quite sensibly that she would likely be overwhelmed if they all converged on her at once. There would be plenty of time later anyway. It didn't sound like Dumbledore would be allowing Buffy to leave anytime soon, after all.

Buffy. It was such an odd name for such an odd girl: a vampire slayer from the future. Wasn't that just the most interesting thing ever? Well, not from her point of view, he supposed. Being stuck in the past was probably not all that fun.

She was so beautiful too, with that bronze California skin. He'd had the hardest time sitting at her bedside and not reaching out to stroke that lovely warm skin, not to mention her hair. He just knew her hair would be golden once she had the chance to clean up a bit. He wondered idly if he'd have the chance to run his fingers through it. Then he remembered her eyes. There was nothing especially remarkable about them he supposed, even the color was one he'd seen before, but on her, taken with the rest of the package, they were perfect.

At last James reached the Hospital Wing, and pushed open the door. He frowned. The girl was nowhere to be soon, and the only indication that anyone at all was in the room was the sounds of pain coming from behind a screen on the far side of the room.

"Madame Pomfrey?" he asked.

The nurse's head popped out from around the screen. She was sweating, and when she reached a hand up to wipe her brow, she left a smudge of blood on her forehead.

"Is that Buffy's?" he asked, panic filling his chest. He thought she was fine now.

Madame Pomfrey gave him a confused look and then looked down at her hand. "Oh! No, no, the girl is fine. Although, she has been in the bathroom for quite a long time now . . . ," she turned back to her patient and seeming to decide that whatever was going on behind the screen was more urgent than the girl, she turned back to James. "Could you check on her, please? I'm a bit tied up at the moment."

"Sure thing, Madame P," he said, heading towards the bathroom. Behind him, he heard a squeaky voice speak between the squeals of pain.

"Who's- ouch! Buffy – Ouch!?"

"Shush, Hester. It doesn't concern you."

James chuckled, and then rapped his knuckles on the bathroom door. No answer. He tried again. Still no answer. "Buffy?" he called, and when there was still no response he turned to get the nurse. However, one glance at the screen concealing Hester Midgeon and her latest acne troubles told him this was one he'd have to solve on his own.

He eased the door open gently and stepped inside. "Buffy?" He gasped and then spun around to face the door again. "Oh, Merlin. I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean to-Madame Pomfrey asked me to check on you. I didn't see anything!"

He waited a moment, but there was no response. "Buffy?" he turned around, trying to keep his eyes averted from her nakedness, but after a moment he realized that she didn't even know he was there. He faced her then and was vaguely surprised to see that she was pressed against the shower wall, shaking violently under the continuous pounding of the water. He couldn't be sure, but he thought she was crying.

He crossed the floor in three steps, flinging the shower door open and stepping inside. The cold water soaking through his clothes took his breath away. He turned the water off and then crouched by her side, brushing her sopping hair out of her eyes.

"Buffy," he said, tapping her on the shoulder. "Buffy, are you alright? It's freezing in here. What's the matter?"

She turned slowly to face him, and held up her hands. His eyes widened at the sight of her bloody knuckles. "My hands. I tried to break the wall. It didn't work." she whispered, staring into his eyes.

"Shh," he said. "Madame Pomfrey can fix that, but we've gotta get you out of here before the cold makes you sick."

She nodded slowly, then looked back down at her hands. "They hurt," she said, holding them out to James. "Why?"

James couldn't help it, he grinned. "Yeah well, that's what happens when you assault tile."

"Not to me," she whispered burying her head in her arms and crying again.

James lifted her chin gently and looked into her eyes. "Hey, it's going to be okay Buffy. We'll fix it. But we really do need to get you out of here now. Can you stand?"

She nodded, but when she went to stand up her legs folded under her and she would have collapsed if James hadn't reached out and caught her."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome," he said, getting slowly to his feet and pulling her with him. He blushed when he realized that he was holding a very naked girl close against his body. He shut his eyes against the thoughts invading his mind and whispered to himself, "Not the time, not the time."

"Well, uh, I'll just go, and let you get dressed," he said, clearing his throat.

She gripped his arm tightly. "Please don't. I don't think- I can't, Please don't," she finished lamely.

James closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Okay. Yeah, sure." He sat her gently down on the toilet and then reached for one of the fluffy towels. He wrapped her in it and then began rubbing her, drying her off slowly.

"You're all wet," she said.

'Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

They didn't speak again until he had gotten her dried and dressed and was running a comb gently through her tangled locks.

"Where did these come from?" she asked, picking at the soft pink sweater he'd brought her.

"One of the girls in my year lent them to me for you," he answered. "There. All done," he added, laying the brush down on the sink. "Ready to go."

She turned to face him. "Thanks," she said, the hint of a wicked smile playing about her lips. "I've never been **dressed** by a guy before."

He laughed, and reached out to cuff her affectionately on the shoulder. "Yeah, it was a first for me, too. Well, you ready for me to take you to see Dumbledore?"

The light went out of her eyes as quickly as if someone had flipped a switch. "I guess," she sighed.

"He's not so bad," James said a few minutes later as they walked to the Headmaster's office. "He really does have your best interests at heart."

Buffy snorted. "Oh really? Then why do I get the feeling that it doesn't matter whether I want to stay here or not?"

James grunted. "Look I know-"

"Can we talk about something else?" she interrupted. "I know you're just trying to reassure me, but . . . ."

A few minutes later she spoke again. "Your year? Is that like a grade?"

"Huh?" James asked, and then he remembered telling her a girl in his year had lent the close she now wore. "Oh, yeah. I'm a seventh year."

She nodded. "So how old are you?"

"Eighteen," he said, and she winced. "What?"

"You," she said, waving her hand in his general direction. "You saw me naked."

"So? I've seen naked girls before. And you can't be **that** much younger than me. No big deal."

Buffy snorted. "I'm not younger than you, I'm older. I'm twenty," she said.

It was James' turn to stop suddenly. However, rather than appearing horrified he seemed absolutely delighted. "An older woman," he said, a rapturous look in his eyes as he resumed walking.

Buffy giggled, and then stopped abruptly when James halted in front of an ugly stone gargoyle.

"We're here," he said. "Bubblegum."


	7. Settling

Not So Much with the Heaven

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and anything associated with it doesn't belong to me, but to Joss Whedon. All things Harry Potter are property of J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made (believe me!).

_**Author's Note:**_ There are a couple of questions that keep coming up in reviews. I have decided that I can answer them without giving **too **much away. However they do deal with some fairly significant aspects of the story, so those of you who don't like _**SPOILERS**_ had best look away.

Will this fit in canon/will Buffy go back to her own time? It is my intention that this story will end in such a way that it **could** fit in with Buffy canon. Therefore, Buffy will be returning to her own time at some point. If I write the tentatively planned sequel however, I will be ignoring anything after season seven of Buffy, including not only the comics but also Angel season five. It will most definitely **not** fit into the Harry Potter canon.

Is this a Buffy & James pairing/What about Lily? Yes, this is a Buffy/James story. As for Lily, well, wait and see.

Finally, I'd like to say thanks again to all of you who are reading my little tale here, and offer special thanks to those of you who leave reviews. They are very much appreciated.

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_**She stood at the side of the grave, unseeing, shaking the hands of the mourners that seemed to pass like a line of vultures before her, come to pick at the bones of her heartbreak. **_

"_**I'm so sorry for your loss," said a blurry form cloaked in black.**_

"_**Pamela was a lovely child, dear. I don't know how you're standing it," a man said, much too loudly.**_

"_**There will be other babies," a woman whispered wrapping her arms around Poppy's thin, shaking frame in what she probably thought was a comforting manner.**_

_**That was the one that snapped her out of her reverie, made her start screaming, reaching out to try to claw the face of the person who had the gall to whisper that at her daughter's graveside. **_

"_**How dare you? How dare you?" she shrieked, twisting in Julian's arms. "My baby's not even cold yet and you-and you-" But she couldn't go on, and she leaned into her husband's embrace, sobbing at last.**_

_**Later she realized the woman had been her sister and she cried all over again.**_

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Poppy jerked awake, the afghan flying off her as she sat up. She had fallen asleep on the sofa again. She leapt up and crossed the room in three quick strides. She yanked open the bottom drawer of her desk. With a shaking hand she withdrew the scotch she kept hidden inside. She unscrewed the cap and, without bothering about a glass, swigged straight from the bottle.

Why was she having these nightmares? It had been years since she dreamed about her family; was one slip of a girl really enough to bring them back? She knew the answer though. Just any girl couldn't have done it, even a girl as broken as Buffy had been. It was the hair. The hair that was the _precise_ shade and texture as Pamela's had been. It was like a knife to Poppy's heart, even after all these years.

Poppy drank until her shaking subsided, and then placed the bottle back in the drawer. She closed it, and then leaned against it for a moment, drawing comfort from the solidity of the wood. She took a deep, fortifying breath and then, squaring her shoulders, she turned to go to bed.

"Oh, my God!"

"I'm sorry," Buffy said, moving silently into the room, her newly acquired white cotton nightgown billowing around her "I didn't mean to scare you. I heard noises and I just wanted to check on you. Um, are you okay?"

Poppy sank into the chair by her desk, her hand clutched to her chest as if to steady herself. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. I just had a nightmare is all."

"Oh. And you're okay now? Do you need anything?"

"No, I'm alright. Really. Go back to bed."

Buffy turned away, although Poppy thought she did so rather reluctantly. As she slid quietly through the doorway, her hair caught in the candlelight, and Poppy choked with the sudden memories. That hair . . . .

"Wait!" she cried, and the girl turned. "Um, are your rooms alright?"

For the first time since Poppy had known her, a truly delighted smile crossed the girl's face. "Oh yes," she said, nodding enthusiastically. "They're perfect."

"Well, I'm glad the Headmaster decided to bunk you in my quarters then."

"Yeah," Buffy said, the smile fading as she yawned. "Well, goodnight. And look, if you need to, I can talk. I have some experience with nightmares." She said the last part sadly, as if she had more knowledge about the subject than any girl should ever have to endure. And Poppy supposed that was the case.

"Thank you," Poppy whispered as Buffy left.

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Buffy tried to go back to sleep, but she couldn't get the haunted look that had been in the nurse's eyes as they talked out of her mind. What was there in this kind, gentle woman's past to cause such pain?

Buffy shook her head. She didn't have the time or energy to worry about someone else's heartaches. Her own were bad enough at the moment.

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"Why are my powers gone?" was the first thing she asked Dumbledore, almost before she even sat down.

"Well, you do jump right to the point, don't you?" he'd said, chuckling at her. He placed the tips of his fingers together and surveyed her over the tops of his glasses, for a few moments before he spoke again. "Are you sure you would like Mr. Potter to remain in the room?"

"Yes," she snapped. "Why are my powers gone?"

"You have a one track mind. Ah, the wonders of youth. Well, Ms. Summers, there are any number of possible explanations. You technically do not exist yet, so perhaps your powers do not either. Or perhaps, there already being one slayer at the time there cannot be another. I do not know. My best guess however is that it is a combination of these things and a side-effect of your journey through the portal."

"The portal?" she asked, confused.

"Yes. You must understand, portal-lore is an extremely obscure branch of magic. Very few wizards have studied it, and none of those in-depth. It is generally accepted however that, because they possess such strong magic of their own, portals often have unpredictable effects on those who go through them. In this case, the portal that brought you here has stripped your powers."

"So I'm not getting my powers back?"

"I don't believe so. If you return to your own time at some point, I hazard a guess that the portal's effects will reverse themselves, and your powers will return, but I can't say for certain."

"And will I be able to do that?"

Dumbledore sighed, and looked at her sadly. "Barring an act of God, I don't believe so. We have a tool that allows us to travel short distances of time, but to travel so far into the future . . . no, it would not be wise."

She looked down at her hands, and fought back tears. James reached over and placed his hand over hers and she clutched at it gratefully. "So I'm stuck here then."

"I'm afraid so. Don't misunderstand me, I will continue to explore the complexities of your situation, and should more information come to light, I shall certainly share it with you." Dumbledore replied. "But rest assured, Ms. Summers, I will make your time with us as pleasant and easy as possible. And on that note, if you could just give this a wave."

Buffy raised an eyebrow as he handed her what she assumed was his wand. He nodded at her and, pushing aside her skepticism, she gave it a flick. "Um, was something supposed to happen?"

He raised a hand to his forehead and massaged his temples. "No, I wasn't expecting anything. This does make things more complicated though." At her confused look he elaborated further. "Had you displayed magical abilities I would have offered you a place at the school and you would have been taught magic. After graduation you would have been able to make your way in the Wizarding World."

"Oh," she said quietly. "And you're sure I can't just live in the non-magical-"

"Muggle," James interrupted.

She glared at him, but continued. "In the muggle world?"

"Oh yes, quite sure. You cannot rip the fabric of time as significantly as your arrival will have done without people noticing, and most of them will not have your best interests at heart. You would be most unsafe in the muggle world."

"But surely I'd be safer?" she argued. "After all, who would think to search for a time-traveler among perfectly ordinary people?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "You do not understand, my dear. The magic from the portal is burned onto your skin. You reek of it. It will lessen in time, but it will always be there. You can never hide."

James frowned. "If there's magic on her skin, then why can't she use it?"

"I don't know, Mr. Potter. It may be that Ms. Summers never had the ability to access magic. Perhaps the magic is **so** ingrained in her skin that it will not allow itself to be channeled into a wand. I don't think that's a question we will ever be able to answer."

"I've done magic before," Buffy said. "A couple of Wicca spells."

"Then it will be the second," Dumbledore said.

Buffy sighed. "Well, what am I supposed to do then? If I'm not safe in the muggle world and can't do magic to live in the Wizarding world, what'll I do?"

"I don't know. I'll have to give that some thought, but rest assured, I will help you. In the meantime, I have arranged for you to have quarters in the Hospital Wing."

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Buffy snapped out of her reverie and looked around. They really were lovely rooms. On the opposite end of the hospital wing from the doors that opened into the school, there were living quarters meant to be used be the resident healer. There was a short, narrow hallway, with three doors opening off of the far side. The door in the middle opened into Madame Pomfrey's office, a large room, filled with shelves of medicines, a small desk crammed into one of the corners. At the right end of the hall were Poppy's quarters. Buffy's were at the left end.

A heavy wooden door opened onto a small, cozy sitting room. The walls were painted a light, soothing blue and the floors were covered by plush carpets. There was a cushy sofa, and a couple of large overstuffed armchairs in front of the fireplace. The left wall was lined with bookshelves, filled to overflowing not only with books Buffy recognized from her own world, but also unfamiliar titles such as _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_. On the back wall, a large picture window opened out onto the grounds. A window seat lay under it, spread with fluffy pillows. In the back right corner of the room, a spiral staircase ascended to the bedroom, where a massive four-poster with the softest mattress Buffy had ever felt was the centerpiece of the room. There was also a beautiful armoire and another window seat. A smaller, but no less luxurious version of the bathroom in the Hospital Wing opened off the bedroom.

Still, as nice as her rooms were, and as kind as everyone was being, Buffy couldn't help but want to go home. Would she ever see her friends again? Her sister? Herself?


End file.
